


Never Let You Go (Drabble challenge drabbles)

by Antheas_Blackberry



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other, Sickfic, Tea and Sympathy, Whinging, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11943783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/pseuds/Antheas_Blackberry
Summary: Drabble challenge drabbles





	1. Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy

**Author's Note:**

> These aren't in any particular order and I've done my best to keep them under 200 words.

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” Greg leaned on the countertop, resting his weight on his forearms. He could feel the tight muscles in his back stretch, a result of a long day of tedious paperwork.

“Do they really,” Mycroft scoffed in disbelief, looking down his long nose at the older man. He took a sip of his tea.

Greg, reaching for his own tea, mirrored the action. “But I know different.” His eyes glinted mischievously as he looked up at Mycroft.

The elder Holmes raised an eyebrow, but did not respond. There was no need for words.


	2. I’m your husband. It’s my job

“I’m your husband. It’s my job,” Mycroft muttered irritably.

“What?” Greg demanded angrily. “Do you get a nice tax rebate every year from Her Majesty’s Government with me as a deductible?”

Mycroft couldn’t restrain himself and rolled his eyes. “No, of course not! You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“Now I’m just a mathematical angle calculation?” Greg huffed.

Mycroft stared at him unblinking for a moment and then burst out into laughter. Greg couldn’t help it; he did as well.

The older man wiped tears of laughter from his eyes with the back of his hand. “What were we arguing about again?”


	3. If you use up all the hot water again, I swear to god! You’re on the couch for a month!

Greg had been standing outside for the better part of the day at a crime scene and he was frozen through. All he wanted was a hot shower and beverage, preferably alcoholic.

He shed his outer layers and the rest of his clothing as he made his way up the stairs and towards the en suite, letting them fall wherever they may. The exhausted DI entered the bedroom to find Mycroft fresh out of the bath and he sighed angrily.

“If you’ve used up all the hot water again, I swear to god! You’re on the couch for a month!!”


	4. How long have you been standing there?

Greg was in the process of making coffee and had just filled the cafetiere with water. His nose gave a sudden irritating prickle and he hastily put the pot down. Raising his arm, he sneezed violently into the crook of his elbow.

After the third sneeze he paused for a moment, breath hitching and eyes watering, before he was rewarded with a loud and vicious fourth sneeze.

“Oh dear me, Gregory. God bless you,” Mycroft exclaimed from the doorway.

Greg nearly jumped. If he had been holding the coffee pot he would have dropped it and been subsequently soaked. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Greg demanded with a damp sniffle.

“The proper response is normally ‘thank you,’” Mycroft said wryly. “However, I have been standing here long enough.”


	5. I didn’t know we were keeping track.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, if one is unwell, the other is bound to end up so. . .

Mycroft was curled up on the couch, surrounded by the detritus of the past few hours; tissues, cups of tea, a pile of newspapers, and a novel. He pulled the blanket Greg had brought him up around his shoulders, huddling himself into it miserably. 

Seconds later, he launched into a violent fit of sneezes, ruining his comfort level considerably.

“Bless,” Greg said, coming in with yet another cup of tea for them both. “That’s thirty-four,” he added.

“I didn’t know we were keeping track,” Mycroft grumbled stuffily, rubbing his nose with the blanket. He was long past decency, given how unwell he was feeling. He sniffled miserably and cradled the tea in his hands, relishing its warmth.


	6. “Stop being grumpy. It’s lame.”

Mycroft hated train travel. It was crowded, noisy and the tea was substandard, even in First Class. 

He sat alone in his row, studiously ignoring the rest of the passengers, reading his briefings. He happened to be looking up, resting his eyes, as a woman several rows in front of him turned to the side and sneezed openly. He cringed in disgust but at the same time was torn at not being polite and offering a blessing. 

He sighed in irritation and turned back to his reading material, hoping he wouldn’t wake up in a week’s time with a nasty cold. Greg would probably say, “Stop being grumpy. It’s lame.” But Greg wasn’t here right now so he could be as annoyed and grumpy as he wanted.


	7. “It’s ok to cry."

Mycroft sat alone in the dark sitting room. His tea, long since abandoned, was now cold. He didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t even look up when Greg entered the room and sat down next to him.

Greg was silent for a bit, watching and waiting. This time of year was difficult for Mycroft, the long dark days fading into one another without end. Last year, Greg ensured Mycroft took his vitamin D and kept up his normal routines, but this year something was different.

Finally, Mycroft sighed heavily. Greg took that as an invitation to reach over and take his hand in his. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Greg asked gently.

Mycroft shrugged. How could he explain to Greg what he was feeling when he knew himself that it didn’t make any sense? He was so terribly melancholy and felt all alone in the world. He bit hard down on his lower lip and blinked back the sudden prickling of tears.

“It’s ok to cry, love,” Greg said as he squeezed Mycroft’s hand gently.


	8. "Trust me."

"Trust me." Greg said softly.

"I do trust you, Gregory." Mycroft somehow managed a weak half-smile and squeezed Greg's hand in return.

"Do you want to sit here, or do you want to go up to bed?"

"Would you mind if we just sat here a little bit longer?"

"Of course not, love." Greg shifted slightly and put his arm around Mycroft and pulled the younger man towards him.

Mycroft relaxed into the touch and Greg's warmth. He let out a breath he had not realised that he had been holding. Perhaps everything would be ok, he thought to himself.


	9. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not part of the drabble challenge drabbles but where else would I put an almost drabble. Lavender_and_Vanilla asked for Mycroft and Greg snowed in and losing power temporarily.

"Bugger," Mycroft said, removing his reading glasses. The lights that had been flickering for some time had finally gone out.

"I'll light a fire. Will you get some candles?" Greg rose from the sofa and headed to the fireplace.

"Very well. I suppose there is little we can do about this," Mycroft huffed.

Greg laughed, as he reached for the matches. "No, not even you can control the weather."

Mycroft got to his feet, walking across the room and fetching the candles from the mantelpiece. "No, I suppose not," Mycroft grumbled.

He stopped and turning towards the window, he parted the curtains to look outside. He was astonished at how quickly the snow had accumulated, leaving London looking like the inside of a snow globe.

Greg came up behind Mycroft, putting his hands on his shoulders as he also looked outside into the picturesque scene. 

"I'm glad I'm inside with you, where it's warm," Greg finally said. He pressed a gentle kiss atop his lover's head.

"As am I, my dear," Mycroft replied.

They stood there for a while in silence, watching the snow fall.


	10. At first glance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For LMirandas :) who requested a first meeting and/or hurt/comfort. I tried to do both.

At first glance

Mycroft Holmes watched the scene from the warmth of his car and felt slightly guilty about it. He had only come because some _policeman_ had called him, telling him that Sherlock had fallen into the Thames.

What the policeman had not told him, was that he had gone in after him. Nor had he mentioned that he was a silver haired fox and absolutely _gorgeous_ , but in the heat of the moment, perhaps Mycroft's emotions had abandoned all caution or care.

With slight reluctance, Mycroft extracted himself from the car, and gripping the handle of his umbrella tightly, strode over to where Sherlock was being examined by a pair of paramedics.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock spat nastily.

"I see a dip in the Thames hasn't improved your manners or temperament, brother mine," Mycroft calmly replied.

The paramedics looked at each other, and then back and forth at the brothers nervously.

"Piss off, Mycroft," Sherlock said, but there was less vitriol in his voice this time.

"Very well. I can see you are in good hands here," Mycroft intoned. 

Having assured himself that Sherlock was fine, it was time to thank the policeman- no, the Detective Inspector, he deduced. Calmly, he walked over to the other ambulance, where the silver haired inspector was explaining that he was absolutely fine and did not need to go to hospital.

The inspector must have seen him, because he suddenly turned in his direction and stared at him with a curious look. After a few seconds, he finally spoke. "Can I help you?"

Mycroft inclined his head in greeting. "Mycroft Holmes. You rang me regarding my brother."

The older man did a double take. "You're Sherlock's brother?!"

"Unfortunately, yes." A smirk played across Mycroft's lips. He couldn't help himself, the inspector was even more gorgeous up close.

The detective inspector barked out a laugh as he lowered himself out of the ambulance, ignoring the paramedics completely. "Greg Lestrade," he said, holding out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you," Mycroft said, shaking the offered hand.

"Good heavens! You're freezing!" Mycroft exclaimed. 

"It's what happens when you end up in the Thames," Greg said with a shrug, as if it were a weekly occurrence. 

"Thank you for rescuing Sherlock. Although, you may find he is more trouble than he is worth."

Greg chuckled. "He's a good lad, just needs to think before he leaps."

"Indeed," Mycroft said. He paused a moment. "I should let you go. You'll catch your death standing around like this." He began to turn away towards his waiting car, but at the last moment changed his mind.

"Detective Inspector?" Mycroft inquired.

"Yeah?" 

"Once you've dried off, can I buy you a drink? It is the least I can do after you rescued my brother."

Greg offered him a dazzling smile, and Mycroft knew at that moment he was done for. "I'd like that."


	11. Locked door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For daynaan-black-dawn

Mycroft followed Greg Lestrade down a flight of stairs and into a flat, the door shutting behind them.

Greg turned, looking over his shoulder at the elder Holmes brother. "Thanks for helping me out with this, Mycroft. I really appreciate it."

"I do have to admit that you piqued my curiosity," Mycroft replied.

"It has nothing to do with showing up Sherlock?"

Mycroft huffed in amused irritation. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

They came to what looked like the living room of the apartment that they were in. "This is where it happened," Greg said.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg's back. The large bloodstain on the carpet gave it away, he thought. 

The younger man began to walk the perimeter of the room, taking everything in, his arms folded behind him. Every now and again he would pause to look at a book more carefully or draw a finger down a shelf as if to check for dust.

Greg leaned back against a wall, crossed his arms, and watched quietly. He was amused by the differences between Mycroft and Sherlock and their approach to deductions. Sherlock never shut up, rattling out a stream of verbal nonsense at times until he finally came up with what happened. Mycroft, on the other hand, was quiet and reserved as he was in life.

After a few long moments of silence, Mycroft finally turned to Greg. "I know you do not want to hear this, but it was his wife," Mycroft said quietly. He pulled out a sheet of paper from where he had retrieved it between two books.

Greg let out a long breath. He had had his doubts about the wife's alibi, but now he knew.

"Thanks, Mycroft." 

Mycroft merely nodded.

Greg sighed heavily, pushing away from the wall. He slowly led them back down the hallway to the door. Greg turned the knob, but nothing happened.

"Is there a problem?" Mycroft asked from behind Greg.

"Yeah, the door knob won't turn," Greg muttered.

"Shall I try?" Mycroft inquired.

Greg shrugged and stepped back, allowing Mycroft to try. Mycroft turned the knob; nothing. Nothing at all.

"Well, this is rather inconvenient," Mycroft said.

"Yeah," Greg sighed, running a hand through his silver strands before rummaging about in the pockets of his coat for his mobile so he could ring Donovan.

After a few minutes of what Mycroft would consider bickering, Greg hung up his phone and turned to Mycroft. "She'll be here in about an hour."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing.

"D'you want to sit down?" Greg asked. "In a room not covered in bloodstains," Greg quickly added.

"Very well," Mycroft said and once again followed Greg.

They sat somewhat awkwardly in the kitchen, on rickety wooden chairs that didn't seem to fit the room. 

Finally, Mycroft broke the silence. "I was glad to receive your call," Mycroft said quietly.

"Really?" 

"Yes. I had been hoping to contrive a meeting with you for some time."

"Let me guess. About Sherlock." Greg sounded disappointed. The last time he and Mycroft had drinks, he was certain that there was something there between them, but then Mycroft had to leave in a hurry, and Greg never had the nerve to say anything about it. 

"No. I wanted to apologise about our last meeting. I did not wish to leave so suddenly. I . . . was enjoying your company."

Greg smiled. "I was enjoying yours."

"Perhaps we could try again this evening? Over dinner?"


	12. Stupid Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for bokkle-oran-doove who asked for Greg and his car

Greg tried to start his car to no avail. It had been a long day, it was late, and all he wanted was a takeaway and some sleep. He thumped the steering wheel in frustration and then got out of the car.

Slamming the door shut, he leaned against the car for a second. "Bloody stupid car!" Greg shouted in annoyance, kicking the tire. "Argh!"

He kicked the tire again in frustration, and then slumped against the car in defeat. What the hell was he going to do now?

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, until he felt a presence behind him.

"Is there something the matter with your vehicle, Detective Inspector?" The dulcet tones of Mycroft Holmes seemingly came out of nowhere.

Greg resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Mycroft," he said, turning around. "And yeah, the bloody thing won't start." He suddenly realised how chilly it was and he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, shivering.

Mycroft could see that Greg was exhausted and cold and decided to leave the formalities and comments for now. "Can I offer you a ride?"


End file.
